


American Influence (Hetalia: America x Belarus)

by AquaGems



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Canyouseeme, F/M, Fluff, Heythere, Imseriousnow, Incest, Onesided, Romance, Tragic Romance, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:38:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7473537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaGems/pseuds/AquaGems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're forbidden to see that-that American, Belarus."</p><p>"I can't; because what stops me is," she pauses. </p><p>Her eyes challenging a staring contest with her brother's as she expects an awaiting protest.</p><p>She continues, "What stops me is, American influence"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preview of American Influence

Preview of American Influence:

"You're forbidden to see that-that American, Belarus." 

The tall leaning figure spats out words that dripped with venom. The small figure that laid within the leaning figure's shadow loosens their grip. The small figure- no, she, loosens the tight grip that wrapped around one's draping coat like a noose. The tall figure; that belongs to her brother- makes movement, her breath is caught in her throat. Her brother swiftly drapes the long scarf hung securely around his neck up to his nose.

His fierce, violet hues searching for a response in those empty, indigo eyes that belonged to the younger sister. Oh those eyes, those violet hues that pierced like blades whenever spared a glance. 

However, Belarus wasn't scared, she revolves around her beloved blades. So she snaps back.

"I can't; because what stops me is," she pauses. 

Her eyes challenging a staring contest with her brother's as she expects an awaiting protest.

She continues, "What stops me is, American influence."


	2. Chapter One: Those Crystals, Dripping

'Chew, swallow, chew, swallow, chew, break gaze.' The dinner routine runs through his head like a cinematic film. It was to eat his food in silence and break that chained eye contact he shared with Natalia; his sister- from time to time. 

His back is leaning against the end of the long decorative table; giving him a sulky posture. His tired eyes are glued onto a half finished dish while his mouth was following a slow pace of rythme, 'Up, and down.' 

"Big brother, does the dish fit to your likings?" A feminine voice that dripped a mellow Russian accent questioned.

His two irises seemed to drown into the color of the depths of an ocean. He cast his striking violet eyes upwards at an all-to familiar face: his sister's face; Belarus. Belarus- the girl who would put diamonds to shame by the way her beauty shimmers brightly - held a wine glass that rotated everytime she shook the polished glass around. The red liquid covered by a shield of glass spins around slowly, and slowly, and slowly.

"Big brother, does the dish fit to your likings?" The Belarusian female questions once more.

"I hate you." His words overlapping those of the female in a hushed tone; as if a mother speaking to her beloved baby.

His eyes that are still holding contact with indigo lifeless eyes are filled with confidence.

The wine glass clenched tightly into her hand is being pushed in together against her small hand. The ear aching sound of glass shattering echos through the dining room. His eyes are drowning in the color of the red liquid that trickles down the women's arm. 

"The...liquid...the red - l-like blood," she speaks between gasps. "Y-yours-all yours!" She screamed as she said the word, 'yours' that made the man tensed. Ivan; known as, 'Big Brother'- shown fatigue to her actions. He slowly began to push himself up with the help of the wooden table.

She seems to have taken note of her brother's desire to leave as she shown a pained face as a response to the Russian man's actions.  
She soon slams the shattered glass on the table and stands up from her seat. Through those deep violet hues belonging to Ivan, sympathy was alive.

"M-my blood, the red liquid...can't you see?" Belarus whispers. "Can't you see my arm? The...red liquid- all yours! And- and," she raised up her arms slowly to reveal the red liquid flowing down like a stream, making an admixture with the blood that came out of pierced skin from the glass.

"M-my blood-my blood...mine...blending into yours." She swiftly jumps onto the table and began to kick the utensils and plates that stood like a barrier to her. She walks slowly, waiting to reach the end of the table. "We are one. Marry me! Marry me! We seal the vows, we blend as one!" Several candles that laid around the long table illuminated the room. However, no longer was the room bright in colors as the candles; the only light source in the room, we're knocked onto the floor. 

She reached the end of the table and fell to her knees. Her head hung low, covering her eyes with her platinum blonde hair. She could listen to both of them breathing silently, but not a word exchanged. 

Ivan reaches out his arm to her and runs his gloved fingers down her pale cheeks. He lowers his hands that were a ghostly touch down to her chin. He lifts up her chin with gentle force, earning a gasp from the startled country representation. He tilts his head softly and leans into her, his eyes never closing in on her. He runs a finger over her soft rose petal - like lips. In results, the small figured female places her fingertips onto Ivan's chest.

"Become one with me." She breathes out in desperation, running fingertips down his chest.

Ivan paused and stared into her glimmering eyes, his eyes flickering to the side of where the only candle left standing, stood proudly next to him. The light surrounded only her and him; in the dim lighted room- everything right now, looked like a picture taken from a wall hung in a museum. 

"Close your eyes." Ivan orders and leaned closer to her. She complies and closes her eyes, awaiting for sparks to fly.

Ivan straightens his back and then turns to the only light source. He shared glances between Natalia; his sister, and the candle. He places his hand over the flame of the candle, cupping the heat inside the barrier of his hands. 

Suddenly, he brushes his fingers over the flame and nudges the bud with his two fingers. The bud that once danced in fire grew into a lifeless object. 

"Ivan?" Belarus spoke and finally awakened those indigo hues. She glanced around to see what took him so long to seal her with his. Only to be met with darkness, she instantly reached out for the man.

"Ivan?" She called his name in curiosity. "Ivan?" She repeats. Nothing responds, not the warm sensation of his touch, nor his voice.

Until she hears the creak of a door. Ivan was near the door, he stared at her disbelieve face with a blank expression. 

"I hate you." He whispers faintly, as if he didn't want her to hear. But she heard, she heard it all enough to break through her wall of expressionless emotions. 

She feels her body shaking as each shiver ran through her spine. Her breath, no longer a rythme as each and every uneven exhale and gasp overlapped eachother. She cries silently as the door shuts firmly, leaving her alone in the dark.

If only Ivan could see those cystals, dripping.


	3. Chapter Two: Those Mentalities, Wild

"And that is how we'll fix those finance troubles," exclaimed the only person who stood up in the atmosphere-filled conference room. He nudged his glasses with a finger and crossed his arms with pride. 

"Honestly, America," The man- whom was the only one standing- turned to face the direction of where the British accented words came from, having heard his title aloud.

"You should donate that pea - sized brain of yours to scientific research." An English man dressed in formal attire identical to other's in the room: a uniform- sat crossed-legged calmly insulted him, occasionally sipping on his steaming tea. 

"Ouch, dude. Not cool, Britain," The man- acknowledged as 'America'- responded with a faked expression of pain. He soon dropped down onto a chair beneath him with a loud satisfying sigh. People surrounding the long table dressed in uniforms had irrated masks on their faces- a few to be correct; due to a certain Russian who held an amused expression.

"Your robot will not save finance, America," The rock-hard Russian accent lifted off the Russian man's tongue. He sat across-faced the American with a forced smile that made the people near him drag their seats a few inches away from him. 

"I recommend you save finance by being one with Mother Russia, da?" The tall Russian insisted, opening his arms widely.

Silence flowed like river in the room. People shifted in their seats uncomfortably at the ideal. However, the American couldn't care less about the ideal, he was busy thinking about a certain someone who would accept the offer. However, the words, 'I'll become one with you,' he predicted that would break the awkward silence never came. 

"Just follow my advice. Robot always help world problems." The American interrupted the silence with an oh-so-matter-of-fact-ly claim. 

He glanced at a women who seemed to be lost in the scenery of nature presented by one of the few windows in the room. She was a women who represented a country; like everyone in the World Conference did. She was Belarus.

He noticed that his Should-be-a-rival was not seated next to her brother, with her arms clinging around Russia's arm as usual. This time, she sat afar from Russia, and was seated next to Norway- who also had a sibling complex like she has on Russia.

'What happened to her?' He mentally questioned.

"I'll give you an appointment to get that brain of yours checked, you git." Britain commented. America ignored the insult for he was too busy getting lost in the sight of the women. 

Again, the world conference began to roll lively: People going about with their ideals and exchanged whispers to one another.

Another glance, after another. America then found his eyes glued onto her, lucky to find no suspicion of his staring in the eyes of others. 

'Yeah, she would be a 'delicate' doll if not for her intimidating attitude,' the American agreed on a fact.

With Platinum blonde hair and indigo eyes she surely caught a tint of the American's interest. Her attire was different from the others however; she wore a dress that matched her eyes and complimented the white bow clipped on her head and the bow hung around her waist. It was cute; just the way America liked it, althought, he'd always deny it.

He'd always deny it. He couldn't possibly be interested in a weapon-carrying women, could he? 

'That's too cliché, it's not that kind of story.' America protested. He judt wanted to be friends, right?

'She interested in her big, big brother, anyways.' America thought, frowning at the thought of Russia- or rather called, 'Ivan', being tall and built like a hero should be. 'I'm not seriously jealous of my rival, because-' 

"NO, THERE MUST BE ONLY ONE HERO!" America shouted his thoughts and slammed a hand flat on the table. 

Everyone was startled at the sudden outburst- including him; but he still remained in his prideful posture until he was ignored.

'I'll be her hero, she'll fall in my arms and we'd be dragged away to the sunset,' he mentally plotted. 

He glanced one more time at the Belarusian whom was scribbling on her documents before he glanced at the clock. Time limit was over which means the meeting was over. 

"Let's hurry this up, anymore declarations?" One asks. 

With assured shaking heads, everyone cleared up their belongings and made a dash to the exit. The American searched through the crowd for a small figure that barely reached his shoulders. This time, he was confident to get at Friend Stage. (Different heights, but I like short girls.) Finally, he detected the Belarusian making way to his direction.

"Hey Bela." America greeted and waved a gloved hand in a friendly gesture. 

She lowered her head and looked away, walking past him as she ignored him. 

"Don't call me that," she harshly ordered. "And here, you stubid American." She softly said, holding a clutched note in her hands before pushing it into his chest. 

"W-wait, Bela-Belarus!" America shouted after her when she turned around to make a run to the exit in embarrassment.

He tilted his head in confusion before turning face to the note that fell to the floor. He gently picked up the note as if a delicate belonging and began to read the scribbled handwriting. 

"Meet me or I'll cut you. Outside the building, bench close to streetlight," he read the message aloud, now alone in the conference room.

'The way she makes my thoughts run, yup, I guess I can say "Those mentalities," ' he chuckled while folding perfect folds of the note.

' "Wild." '


	4. Chapter Three: Those Prints, Permanent

She could hear the man's footsteps clinking on surface in the somewhat lone street; getting louder each second he approached her. Finally he reached his destination: where a young Belarusian rested on a bench, bathing in the honey-golden light of a streetlight, surrounded by the night's darkness.

"Belarus? Hey, Dudette?" America called out to the female and waved a hand in her face. 

America waited for a response- but it didn't come. He looked at her chest to see a gentle pace of 'up and down', then wondered his eyes up to her face. He couldn't see her eyes since her bangs were covering them. Suddenly, an ideal clicked. He bent forward, inches away from the female's face and balanced a hand on the bench's arm. He reached up slowly to brush those tresses away when suddenly, he felt a hand crushing grip on his wrist.

"I've been expecting you." She growls with glaring eyes.

"Y-yup." America nervously took a free hand and nudged his drooping glasses up. 

"I need a place, your place." she bluntly says. 

"My place? Don't you have that Scarf Fetish man to take you home- not like I wouldn't welcome you to my cozy home- but still, what changed your mind?" America asked eagerly. 

"Don't call my big brother that, and that is none of your business!" She snaps back and took a dagger hidden in her thighs.

"You need to take me in." She held the dagger to his throat. 

"Okay," he hesitantly agreed. "But if I take you in, you won't be carrying that around," he suggested and looked over her shoulders to see a person's shadow.

"Wouldn't want to die and miss out on Mcdonald's 24 hour drive through." He mumbles the last words. 

He noticed the shadow belonged to an intimidating person once they were revealed by the streetlight. 

"Belarus, come home to your big brother," the person interupted. "Come home." 

"Big brother Russia?" Belarus says under her breath in disbelief, meeting her brother, Russia's eyes. 

America took Belarus's arm and tugged her to his chest to her surprise. America ignored the flames in the presence of the Russian man who now stood in front of them. 

"Unhand her now, because it would be a shame to taste metal," Russia paused to take out a long pipe out of nowhere and continues with his threat. "Once I dig this pipe down your mouth." The Russian man soon did a roll of 'Kols' with his voice.

America scrunched up his face in digust and held onto the struggling Belarus in his arms more tighter. She was strong in threats, but his strength was no competition to America.

"You actually fell for someone like that? Not cool, Dudette." He glanced at her then let's go in surprise when he saw Belarus's plan to try and stab his arm. She finally reaches freedom then faces Russia. 

"I will not come home, big br- no, Russia, America is taking me in," she stated bitterly, making sure Russia could feel the same pain she had felt once. 

Russia softened his eyes in sadness when she no longer called him, 'Big brother'. 'Had he really hurt his dear sister?' He thought in guilt. He finally lowered his pipe and stared at her for what felt like minutes. He soon felt a tear hanging off his chin like a cliff.

"P-please, come home, you- you can't just leave. I'm sorry, p-please understand m-me." Russia fell to his knees and began to plead in broken words as he bit back the tears. As much as Belarus wanted to cling onto him and cry out apologies for making him suffer, she kept still. 

America was frozen in his spot, however. He felt like he was watching a cliché drama movie over and over.

"I'm leaving. Bring me home." She ordered and started to walk away in discomfort, hugging herself. 

"Very well..." Russia looked away in defeat. "I will wait for you with opened hands." He stood up and looked down at the American- who was left behind- with innocent eyes. He then gripped onto the American's jacket and pulled him to eye level. 

"Keep her well...da? O-one month you'll stay with her, then she'll be running back to me, for sure. So I'll be waiting, but when she comes back and if I find her broken," he threatens and held the pipe up between them. 

"There will be a war." 

The American's eyes that usually kept a spark were no longer visible. Now replaced with angry ones, he glared at his rival and pushed the man away, keeping his fall balanced.

"I'm not here to cause trouble, I'm just being a hero." 

___

"Where do I sleep?" The Belarusian bluntly said. She looked around and inspects the American's living room. It was fairly big and was filled with vintage items. She never would've thought a man who- what seems to be- half his wallet on greasy restaurants, would actually have enough to afford a mansion.

"Well-l-l don't have guest rooms except only one- which Tony uses," The American replied, pausing ocassionally in his response because he was currently distracted by a video game. "So you can sleep on my bed in the meantime." (Tony: the alien.)

"Sleep on your bed- with you? Unless you want a deathwish, then I will." 

"What? No!" He protested and turned around to face his guest. 

There she was standing there with her emotionless expression, staring back at him. He noticed she wasn't dressed in her usual dress after she had taken a shower, but in one his shirts, only. Because she was small, he could see his shirt draping down to the middle of her thighs. He blushed slightly and looked away to hide his blush, tapping furiously on the remote controller in his hands. 

"I'd be sleeping on the bed if that's cool with you, me being the hero and all," he suggested.

"Fine by me." She says, voice fading as she made way to find his bedroom. 

And so that was it. 

He turned off the game and walked his way to the kitchen. He pulled out a drawer and hauled out a calendar. He skipped through mountains of pages and stopped at 'December'. He ripped out the particular page and with another slide of a different drawer, he pulled out a thumbnail.   
He scanned through the numbers printed on the white sheet of paper before he hung it high to the wall and pinned it. 

To think he'd have one month before she walks away from him- he'd be drinking bitter coffee in the morning he assured. He didn't think he'd end up falling for the emotionless women- until he met her long ago, wondering about in Russia's household during a meeting between Russia and himself. Ever since then, it started out as a mere crush and then he'd find himself back then in a one-sided love.

History really does come back, pleading to be your present- doesn't it?

He leaned against the kitchen table and stared at the ripped paper. He wished he could take the dates out of the paper and tear them apart. But knowing a fact about these calendars, he slithered to the ground. 

And that fact was: those prints, permanent.


	5. Chapter Four: Those Days, Away

A/N: The first day of memories; just fluff moments. No conflict building up for the climax here, skip to other chapter if you want to get to point. 

It was the end of November and a beginning chapter for December. The weather this week was gentle and calm, with little amount of snowflakes falling on your nose. But this day, the weather seemed that it doesn't give any mercy, because it was just constant snowfalls and occassionally, snowstorms. 

The trees swinging wildly and the loud screams of the howling wind. Occassionally, America could hear the power switching off then on, he didn't feel happy about the ideal of having to deal with timers. And then again, he noted that the power came back on, he took this as advantage to start using the devices in his kitchen to cook before it gets cut off again.

After staring at just white shown by the windows for sometime, he finally decides to get up from the bed- that he was sharing with his friend, Tony- and check on Belarus. He swings his leg over to the side of the bed and slips on his bunny slippers. 

He was walking in the empty hallways, searching for his bedroom while he brushes his arms in coldness. Thanks to the power off a couple of minutes ago, the heaters are just barely working up the rooms. When he stopped in front of his door and knocked, there was no reply. He opened the door and faced nothing. 

'Where was she? She didn't go back home, did she?' He thought and stared at the empty bed. 

He shivered at the thought and picked up his American-flag designed blanket from the bed, then wrapped it around himself. He walked out into the hallway to continue searching for Belarus. 

'Bing.' 

Suddenly, he heard pans from the kitchen hitting the kitchen table softly. He ran to his room and pulled out a gun from one of his desk drawers. He holds the gun's end up and leaned to the wall. He walked up to the kitchen, never leaving contact from the wall and finally, aims his gun at the intruder. 

"Put your hands up-" he shouts but then lowers his weapon in surprise. "Belarus?" 

"Da?" She stops mixing an admixture of ingredients in a bowl and stares at the American intensely. 

"Are you cooking lunch?" 

"Da."

"So you can cook? That's cool, Dudette! Do you know how to make hamburgers- no, wait, maybe fries too, and- and-" the American excitedly questioned while leaning over her shoulder to get a better look at what she was cooking. 

"That garbage? Nyet, I only make Belarusian food." She responded opposite to what America expected to hear, and nudges him in the chest with her elbow.

He stumbles back and pouts. "Fine, fine. Can I have some since y'know, I kinda helped with all your, like, troubles with big bro?" 

She pauses and tried to ignore the fact he just gave a foolish slang term for a replacement of what title she gives Russia. 

"Maybe." 

"You're no fair-r-r." America pouts again and whines. He wraps his blanket around himself more tighter, until he noticed that Belarus wasn't wearing much layers. He takes the blanket and drops it on her shoulder, then pats her shoulder in a friendly manner. 

"Haha! Wouldn't wanna catch a cold, right?" 

"Thank you." She says, tugging the comfort closer. She secretly takes a sniff of the blanket and finds that she liked the odd smell that stuck to it.  
(America smells fine, yes.)

"Thank you?" 

'How long was he willing to distract her from cooking?' She mentally complained. 

She huffed in annoyance then pushes him out the door.

"If you want to eat, then leave me alone to cook." 

__

"That was good. Very, very good." He complimented her dishes with stars in his eyes. He sighs in satisfaction and plops on the living room couch, then pats his stomach. The Belarusian follows him into the room in silence. She didn't have a slightest reaction to his compliments, and kept a straight face. 

"Here, sit down," he pats the empty spot on the chair next to him. He turns on the large TV hung on the wall and falls back. 

"Netflix. You want that?" He asked while switching to mountains of movies in a selection box. 

"What is Netflix?" She questions and sits next to him. She hugged the blanket around her glanced at the man next to her, who looked at her like she killed someone- 'not like it would be disturbing or whatever' she smirked slightly at the mental comment with a flash in her eyes.

"You serious? Man, you're lost. Just, nevermind that. I'm just asking, movie or nah?" 

"Da..." She agrees. In the corner of her eyes, the blond man were loose layers in the cold room. She didn't know what snapped her to decide to be generous as she shifted closer to the man and wrapped the blanket around him. 

The man noticed her actions and almost dropped the remote control in his hand at the sudden actions. He faintly blushed at her odd decision.

"Wouldn't you get cold?" He asked with worry. 

"Nyet, no really. At big br- Russia's place, the weather is worst," she reasoned. 

He blinked his eyes at the remark then smiled at her. 

"If you tell anyone about this-" she threatens and gave him a glare before she paused at his smooth actions. 

"Aw, you do care for me!" He cooed and lifted up part of the blanket with one hand and scooted next to drop the remains of the soft, heavy silk on her. 

"I will..." She drags her sentence then looked away from the grinning man. She slithered down in her posture in silence. 

"Hurry up and just find that movie!" She snapped in a muffled voice, covering her head with the blanket.

__

 

The power had went off again in the late night, after Belarus recovered for the night. Once again, he walked out a room- with a hand clenched tightly on a pen, and a hand carrying a candle- and into the endless hallway. He stopped walking around when he reached a particular room: the kitchen. He enters the room silently and walked up to the white sheet hung on the wall with numbers. 

He scratched off the number one.

Soon enough, he'd be scratching numbers day by day. And he'd be scratching those days, away.


End file.
